


Bird in Flight

by MelAncrath



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Established Relationship, Identity Porn, M/M, Murder Mystery, Past Underage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 18:48:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10039385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelAncrath/pseuds/MelAncrath
Summary: When Gotham’s Major Crimes Unit is called in to investigate a series of ritualistic murders Batman asks his former Robin, Jason Todd, to help him work the case. Together they explore the abandoned corners of their dark city, remembering their old partnership, and working out the kinks of their new one.





	1. Night One

“I need everyone to clear out of here!” Gordon commands. One or two of the rookies mutter a bit under their breaths but the majority of his detectives and techs make themselves scarce with little to no fuss. They know the drill.

Gordon looks around the crime scene in disgust. The whole thing is straight out of a pulp fiction movie. Strange symbols written in blood across the walls with no regard given to the no doubt priceless works of art they’re sometimes layered over. Organs placed meticulously at the four cardinal points. What looks to be a heart is sitting on the mantle above the fireplace on the northern wall, displacing an expensive crystal whatnot which is shattered across the intricate inlaid hardwood floor. Another bloody mass is taking up space on the eastern aligned bookshelf. Then the third, a western oriented tableau tinged with humor. It’s a pair of lugs sitting atop a bust looking like a wet red hat. Then finally, in the south facing gateway, intestines strewn like a party banner above the entrance to the grand foyer. Who does shit like this? He wonders. 

Frequently he asks himself what came first. Did the city make the freaks or did the freaks make the city? Where did the cycle begin?

“You can come out now.” The commissioner says to the shadows around the staircase in the back. Some people like to blame Batman for the freaks but Jim's been on the force since before the Dark Knight showed up and he can't remember a time when Gotham hasn't had some outstandingly strange and criminally inclined individuals inhabiting it. 

“Harsh art critique.” Says a deep voice from behind him. Gordon whips around to see Batman facing the wall of defaced paintings and bloody symbols. He’s still startled every time. Some day he will suss out where his overly dramatic friend comes from but today isn't that day. “Seems personal.” 

“Really?” Gordon asks, trying not to sound like his heart is beating double time from the jump scare. “So far we've been unable to establish a relationship between any of the 9 - now 12 - victims. And with that many it seems unlikely.”

“Not the victims, the scene seems staged, as if it's an indictment against the homeowners taste.”

“Maybe, but there have been two other scenes like this in as many weeks. All across the city. One in a parking lot near the conservatory, another behind a Chinese restaurant in Park Row.”

“And now this is the fourth.” Batman says to himself. 

“What? No, this is the third. One, two, three.” Gordon counts.

“You're working with incomplete information. Based on the obsession with four and judging by the rough location of this scene in relation to the others you described there already is or will be a fourth scene within a quarter mile radius of the coordinates I sent to your phone.”

Jim’s phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pocket and glances at the text he just received. Coordinates from an unknown number. He hadn't even seen the guy twitch a finger, how did he sent a text? 

“I’m going to look into a disappearance that happened under 72 hours ago. If we're lucky we could be racing against the clock to save the next four victims.”

Jim looks up from his phone but Batman is already gone. God. Damnit.

***

It‘s gearing up to snow, Jason can feel it in the air and see it in the sliver of sky visible between the tall buildings bracketing the alley he’s waiting in.

He has his hood off and tucked under his arm even though he shouldn't. In this town where someone might be able to connect him to the tragically dead orphan who used to be Bruce Wayne’s charity case he usually keeps his face covered, but Jason needed a smoke. Not physically mind you, it’s just a mental craving. Go figure, the pit could heal him of his nicotine addiction but it had still sent him back with a few screws loose. 

He’s waiting for an acquaintance who might recognize him from his past life so he fully intends to put the hood on soon but not just yet. One of the few people he considers a friend has dropped off the grid without a trace. Crystal. She’d been kind to him when he’d needed it most so he looks in on her every now and then but this time he’d looked and found nothing, she was just gone. It’s probably useless to search for her, most likely she's dead in a ditch, but she hasn't been missing so long that all hope is lost and he needs to figure out what happened. If only for his own peace of mind.

“Have you been following the latest major crimes case?” says a voice from the shadows.

“Some people say hello.” Jason waits a beat. He doesn't actually expected an answer so when none is forthcoming he moves the conversation along himself. “Not closely, a couple of victims showed up dead, crime scene looked like someone had watched True Detectives one too many times.” 

“There were eight victim, now it's twelve, possibly sixteen, if it isn’t already.” 

That’s so many more than Jason was expecting but he’s too cynical to be surprised. “What?” He says, full of false outrage. “How could that many people disappear with nobody- just kidding,” he laughs sardonically “so we have a serial killer hunting the homeless, fuck this town.”

“Yes.” Bruce agrees, with which statement Jason isn't sure. “How’s your friend?” He asks.

“Missing.” Jason admits. “And now you've got me even more worried.” He dosen't bother asking how Bruce knows what he's doing waiting around in an alley, this alley. Instead he says “The new kid must be good, found me and figured out what I was up to all without leaving the cave.” 

“He’s promising.” Bruce agrees. 

“Hacking your helmet made things pretty easy.” says Duke’s distorted voice from under Jason's arm. Despite years of training against such surprises Jason nearly jumps out of his skin. 

“Jesus fuck!” He shouts. Jay has half a mind to arm his helmet and chuck it at Bruce’s head but replacement hoods are expensive and Jason doesn't have the steady supply of mercenary money that he used to. “You fucking asshole, fitting right in aren’t you?” He asks.

“Invasion of privacy is how we show we care.” Duke says as if he’s quoting someone.

“BG tell you that?” Jay half expects to hear her voice come through his helmet next.

“That she did.”

“We should spar,” Jay says threateningly, “I'll teach you a few tricks of my own.”

“Uh yeah, sure man.”

“Good, now in the meantime: get the fuck out of my systems and don't worry about getting back in, you won't.”

“Say goodnight Duke.” says Batman.

“Goodnight Duke.” says Jason’s helmet.

Jason groans, B has such an obvious type. “At least he doesn't look like another clone of you, that was getting suspicious.”

Batman pointedly says nothing so Jason pointedly takes a drag from his cigarette. 

Batman says nothing even more pointedly. “What? Keeps me warm.” He says, remembering when it had been necessary to buy individual cigarette to keep his teeth from chattering because a new coat was out of the question. 

“Habits are a weakness.” B says. Fucking everyone wants to quote things at him tonight. 

“Yeah or maybe you're just upset that if you kissed me now I'd taste like an ashtray?” He teases. 

“Your friend is coming.” Bruce says instead of responding to Jason's flirting. 

“Not my friend.” Jason says before stamping out his cigarette and locking his hood into place. He trusts B to be out of sight without needing to be asked.

Jason's contact rounds the corner and recoils the second she sees who's waiting for her.

“Not who you expected?” Jason asks menacingly. Her name is Jess. She's young but her pinched face makes her look older. Skinny framed with too-long blond hair that’s tangled and limp. The nervous girl Jason had known from elementary school grown up into a twitchy little drug dealer.

“Sorry man, my bad.” She says, backtracking down the street.

“No no,” Jason says, beckoning her forward, “you're just who I was looking for.”

Jess glances around herself looking for an out but when she can't find one she slowly comes closer, although noticeably not within arms reach. “What do you want dude? I don't sell to kids.” She says. Nice to know his rule from a few years ago is still in effect

“Not what I’m here for. I need to know where Crystal is.”

“Crystal? I don't know anything about Crystal. If you’re looking for that kind of thing try two streets over.” 

“I'm not looking for ‘that kind of thing’ I'm looking for Crystal.” Jason shoots at her like a bullet from a gun and has one of her bird like arms behind her back and her gaunt face slammed against the alley’s brick wall before she can cry out for help. “What do you know about her?” He demands “I know you two are friends.” 

“Fuck you man!” She shouts louder than necessary, probably hoping to grab some bystander’s attention. Jason isn’t worried, she wouldn't be finding a good samaritan in this neighborhood. 

“I'm not trying to get her locked up, I'm trying to help her. She's been missing. What do you know?” 

“How do you know she’s missing? Why do you even fucking care?”

“I know because I care and why I care is my business. You'd do well to stay out of it. Now, tell me what you know.” Jason almost regrets shouting at her. He can feel her trembling beneath him and he knows how she ended up this way, how she’d grown up exactly like he had. Too bad she reminds him so much of the people who’d poisoned his mother. 

“I don't know man, I don't know! Last I heard she had some new big shot John who was gonna Pretty Woman her away so maybe that's where she is. All her problems solved, living it up with Richard Gere.” 

“Who's Richard Gere?”

“What? You know, the actor in the movie, the guy who pays the lady with the big mouth-”

“I fucking know who-” Jason interrupts her then has to laugh at himself. “I mean who is the John who ‘Pretty Womaned’ her?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Jason is getting fed up so he pulls out his gun. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” She wails at the top of her lungs, “Jesus Christ please don't! I can find out, I can find out, just let me go and I can find out.” He almost believes she’s just scared shitless and not still hoping the cops will hear.

Jason lets her go. “You do that.” He says. “Give me your phone.” She passes it to him with trembling hands and he adds one of his burner numbers to the list of contacts. “If you don't call me with a name by noon tomorrow I’ll kill your Aunt Cindy.” 

“What the fuck man!” She swipes her phone out of his hands and backs away looking paranoid, unaware that she is speaking to a former classmate. “Fuck you Bats, who the fuck’s side are you on anyway, fuck.” 

“You're a criminal.” Jason reminds her.

“So are you, asshole.” She says before taking the opportunity to dash out of the alley and down the street. Hopefully she’s off to get him some more info on Richard Gere. 

“You didn't need to be so harsh on her.” Batman says, materializing from darkness like he’s walking through a portal.

“She’s tougher than she looks.” Jason says, “little girls don't rise through the gang ranks without being twice as mean or twice as clever as the dealers with dicks.” 

Batman specifically declines to pick at Jason's methods any further. 

“Well, that was my only lead so unless you know any other missing hookers I'm tapped out.” 

“Follow me to base 3,” B says, “I have an idea.”

“About Crystal?”

“Not specifically, this is about the case as a whole.” 

“You don't know if Crystal’s part of your case.” 

“Dozens of at risk people have been going missing for the past three weeks, you know how I feel about coincidences.” 

“Yeah yeah,” Jason doesn't need another fucking quote about zebras and horses. “Meet you there.”

***

Base 3 is also known as the penthouse and serves as the main auxiliary cave downtown. The property is located centrally in the heart of Gotham's skyscraper district and occupies the top three floors of a brand new, many storied, building. Amenities include a rooftop helipad and three sub-basements. Jason wonders what the HOA fees are. 

“This building is a monstrosity.” He says, gazing down from the wall length window at the smaller, more classically Gotham buildings below.

“A skyline is a living breathing thing.” Bruce says, shedding his suite in segments, putting each armored panel away in it’s perfectly individualized spot until he’s left with only the cloth base layer. Jason can't help giving him a once over. 

“Where’s the character?” Jason asks. “Where’s the respect for balance and harmony? Why does it shoot up forty floors higher than any other building? Where are the goddamned gargoyles?” 

Bruce chuckles “You always were a classicist. The city is allowed to evolve. It just sticks out because it's the first of its kind.” 

“Ugh, I hope it's the last of its kind.”

Bruce climbs the gleaming minimalistic central staircase, presumably heading towards his bedroom to change, so Jason wanders over to the kitchen to raid the fridge. What he finds inside is priceless. Row upon row of Alfred's home brewed, freshly made, energy smoothies. 

“Oh my god.” Jason whispers to himself. “Hey!” He shouts at Bruce, “can I steal some of the stuff in your fridge?”

“Help yourself to anything you want.” Bruce says from above.

Jason eyes the wall panel he knows will release a hidden armory cache, understanding that Bruce literally meant anything up to and probably including the kitchen sink if he wanted it. He’s tempted to load up on free goodies but he hesitates and decides to just grab a smoothie. 

He’s sipping Alfred's specially crafted concoction when B comes back downstairs, dressed to the nines in one of his gorgeous modern tuxes with the ends of his bow tie undone.

Jason pulls his gloves off and stalkes over to the man. “Lift your head.” He says and deftly does up the black tie. “I feel overdressed now.” He winks.

“You're perfect.” Bruce says. “Thank you for the help but I actually need to be a bit more disheveled.” 

“Exactly how disheveled?” Jason asks. Heart thumping.

“Like I just finished having a fun night out, but I'm ready for one more drink at the bar.” 

“You got it boss.” Jason pushes Bruce backwards leading him to the couch. When they reach it he shoves the older man down, yanks his handiwork apart, and wrinkles the pristine tux by grabbing Bruce’s lapels in his fists and straddling his thighs. “One disheveled billionaire coming up.” He says before initiating a rough kiss.

They’ve been falling into bed with each other for the past year. Their mended working relationship easily segwaying into a renewed personal one. The sex is causal, the relationship open and easy. Jason had been wary at first, Bruce almost always initiating things in the beginning. It was such a departure from the way things had been before his death. Back then Jay had been relentless in his insecurity driven pursuit to keep B obsessed with him. Now he’s cautious, overly conscious of how much he doesn't want any aspect of his relationship with Bruce to define who he is. 

The kiss turns long and familiar. Bruce is warm and human underneath him. His large hands gripping Jason’s sides, fingers searching for skin, forgetting who should be disheveling who.

“Should I put on some lipstick?”Jason asks playfully, willing to disguise the fact that it had been a man who’d made Bruce Wayne look like walking sex. 

“Don't stop.” is all Bruce says before grabbing Jason's ass and encouraging him to grind in his lap.

Jason bends down and sucks a large, sloppy, hickey on the side of Bruce's throat so that it peaks provocatively over his collar. It’s an indulgence he’s normally never afforded. Then he runs his fingers though the man’s already cowl disheveled hair because he wants to.

He sucks in a breath as he feels how hard Bruce is getting then goes back to abusing his lips until they're wet and swollen. When Jason pulls back again to appraise his handiwork Bruce’s eyelids are at half mast, pupils glassy with lust. He’s gently thrusting upward almost involuntarily, rocking Jason to distraction.

“You wanna fuck me B?” He asks, it hasn't been a real question for years. 

“You know I do.” Bruce says, color rising under his pale features. “But we’re on a time limit.”

“Okay. This enough?” 

“Never.” Bruce says, the fucking sap, but he pushes on Jason's thighs, lightly encouraging him to get up.

Jason rolls off and Bruce stands, looking like he’s gone a round or two with one of his brain dead debutants. 

“What’s next?” Jason asks, adjusting his pants. Going anywhere on his bike is going to be a pain in the ass.

“Next, I head over to the bar at the Mandarin Oriental and you can listen in if you’d like.” He taps his ear. “I'll have Duke patch you in to the channel on the way there.”

“I’ve already got it.” Jason is not un-delighted at the opportunity to admit that. “Caring is surveilling.” 

***

It’s almost too easy to slip into the careless, good natured, persona of Brucie. Contrary to popular belief Bruce doesn't hate the role. Like any good actor he has a great deal of compassion for the characters he inhabits. Brucie is even-tempered and outgoing. So what if he had a touch of affluenza, who wouldn't in his situation? It’s unbelievably relaxing to pretend to have no more than one thought at a time in his head, to lay down his cause and live as a man without an all consuming sense of duty. Best of all he is often able to take his mental vacations completely guilt free when they're in service of the mission. 

Alfred often accuses him of living behind too many masks but Bruce finds time to be himself when he ignores the absolutist bat-shaped disapproval of Jason’s harsher methods, when he encourages his newest apprentice to prank an old colleague, or when he allows himself to burst into a hotel bar in a flurry of wealth produced blithe and fling a friendly arm around the shoulder of a suspected serial killer.

“Patrick!” Bruce booms, his cheerful greeting a little louder than necessary, playing up how less than sober he is.

“Bruce,” Patrick, a Ken doll cut out of a man, hisses. “What are you doing here?” He looks around, unhappy to have extra attention called to him. 

“Oh, have I had a night!” Bruce says and launched into a saga of frivolous sexual conquest designed to ignite Patrick's competitive nature. “What have you been up to? You look like you've had a time of it yourself.”

“God, nothing as fun as your tale, old chum.” Patrick says. “Can you believe I've been barred from entering my own home? Apparently someone decided to commit a murder in it. Ghastly business.” Patrick waves his hand as if dismissing the whole situation. “The police tried to question me but obviously I wouldn't tell them a thing without my lawyer present so I've taken up residence here until the whole mess is sorted. Alicia, from Dunder & Hill,” Patrick pauses until Bruce nods approvingly, affirming that his lawyer hails from the best firm in Gotham “will get all of this taken care of by morning. I've had priceless artworks destroyed for God’s sake!”

“Devastating.” Bruce refrains from commenting on Patrick's prioritization of art over four lost lives and forges onward. “I can't imagine. Who would do such a thing?” 

“Who knows, probably some costumed freak with a mental illness. It’ll be on the news next week, a lunatic dressed up like a Picasso running around calling himself the ‘Art Killer.’” 

Bruce chuckles “He could have a Calder mobile for a hat.”

“It’s Gotham, I wouldn't be surprised.” Patrick says and downs his drink. “Well, I think I'm going to bed, I'll have endless calls to make to Sotheby's in the morning.”

“Let me know if there's anything I can do to help.” Bruce says and wishes Patrick farewell. 

“Self absorbed fuck.” Jason says in his ear. “That was as useless as he is.”

“Hm.” Bruce agrees, then taps out the code for ‘meet at The Cave’ before leaving.

***

Jason flops into the computer chair in the cave and waits for Bruce to pull his civilian ride for the night, a sleek silver Bugatti, onto the parking pad. “Well, I think we can rule out Patrick as the killer, he may be a narcissistic sociopath but he seemed genuinely put out about his stuff getting messed with.” 

“Yes,” Bruce agrees as he gets out of his car. “I doubt he’s committing the murders himself and he seems to be unaware of anyone who might have a grudge against him, although I am sure that doesn't mean there aren't people who would like to see him inconvenienced by police suspicion.”

“Put me on that list.” Jason says, “fucking ass hole, I remember him you know?” 

“Do you?“ Bruce asks. 

“Yeah, Patrick Ferrer, he threw that new gallery opening we were at wayback when. He was so insufferable I kept downing glasses of champagne to amuse myself and then tried to get you to fuck me in the coat closet.”

“I remember that party. You were very tempting.” Bruce says.

“Yeah, I know,” Jason spreads his legs “You wouldn't fuck me in the coat closet but you ate me out in the car.” 

Bruce visibly shivers before he's stalking over to Jason. Somehow it makes Jason feel vulnerable even though he’s the one in full uniform and Bruce is in civilian clothes.

“You were very demanding that night.” 

“I was always demanding.”

“Hm.” Bruce hums in agreement. “Would you like to finish what we started?” He asks.

“Yeah B.” Jay says, feeling impatient “Fuck me.”

“Demanding boy.” Bruce muses, “Take off your clothes.” 

Jay strips his jacket and armor off, quickly complying with the familiar command. Bruce runs his hands up and down Jason's sides, encouraging him into kiss. 

“Now get in the car.” Bruce says, biting Jason’s earlobe. 

“Fuck boss.” Jason moans, immediately catching on. His heart is beating double time at the thought.

“Is this ok?” Bruce asks.

“Is it ok for you to reenact having sex with me when I was sixteen?” Jason’s mind says ‘danger zone!’ but his dick says ‘fucking hot.’ Jason himself says “I’ll let you know if it isn't.” He sheds his pants and lets Bruce open the back door of the car for him. Jason feels incredibly exposed crawling into the car naked with Bruce watching him from behind. The car dips as Bruce entered, he’s still fully dressed, just as he had been five years ago.

“Fuck,” Jason says when he feel Bruce kiss a slow wet trail down his spine and then lower.

“You've been very bad tonight.” Bruce says behind him. “I can't take you anywhere can I?” Echoes of words Jason’s heard before.

“You gonna fuck me now B?” 

“No, I don't think you deserve that.” Bruce uses a finger to play lightly with Jason's hole. “I think you need to learn patience, so you're not going to get my cock until you've come so many times you don't want it anymore.” 

Jason is silently losing his goddamn mind. “B” he whines and pushes back on the teasing finger.

“You sound anxious.” Bruce works one, then two digits into him, the burn is delicious. “That won't do. You need to learn to tolerate your circumstances without comment.” 

Jason bites his lip, working hard to remember what his needy younger self had said “Stoicism is for the birds. I know you wanna be in me B.”

“You will learn.” Bruce slaps his ass, hard. “I will teach you.” 

The sharp contact sends Jason reeling, it's been so long since anyone’s hit him during sex. Jason’s so hard he drops one leg to the car floor and starts humping the leather seat cushion. He hears Bruce groan behind him and feels the larger man caress his ass with groping hands before they deliver another stinging blow. “Only animals can't control themselves. Are you a dog Jason?”

Jason can't remember what came next. He’d probably barked just to be an asshole, angling to make Bruce lose his shit but this time he wants to be good, he wants to obey. So he stops rolling his hips and holds as still as he can. 

“So beautiful. Have you decided to be good for me?” 

“I'll be good.” Jason says, voice broken. He wants to beg but that isn't what Bruce had asked him to do. Instead he holds perfectly still until he feels Bruce's hands reverently spreading his cheeks.

“Good, now let's see if we can't work on your endurance.” Bruce swipes his tongue down Jason's crack and then thrust into him

Endurance. Back when he was sixteen Bruce had made him come twice before he'd finally fucked him after Jason had been so impatient at the gallery. He’s being so much better now though, surely Bruce will fuck him soon if he’s good enough. 

Jason fights his instinct to buck against Bruce's mouth, moan into the crook of his arm, or thrust against the car seat. He feels so open and full. It's hard to take. But Jason can be good. He can take it.

“Baby,” Bruce whispers and Jason can't help it, he makes a high bottomed out sound at Bruce’s use of that pet name spoken so close to his hole. “You've been so good for me. Can you come like this?”

Jason shakes his head no. He had come from it years before but he needed more now.

“Turn over for me baby.” Bruce says gently.

Jason groans, and not the sexy kind, he dislikes being on his back. Clients used to want him on his back. 

“Turn over, or I’ll turn you over.” Bruce threatens, displeasure flipping on like a switch. Jason turns, he hates that he’d let Bruce down. He always hates letting Bruce down. “Good boy.” Bruce comments dismissively. Jason feels loose and impatient but he holds still. He’ll show Bruce he can be good. 

Bruce begins thrusting three of his fingers into Jason, finding his prostate every time and sending sparks flying in Jason's mind. After a short time he leans forward and takes Jason's straining cock into his mouth as well. It’s so warm and tight. Jason pants as heat spreads through his chest, he could come like this. 

Bruce taps on Jason's side the signal that it’s ok for him to come. Jason’s release immediately builds and his control breaks. His orgasm comes loudly as Bruce swallows his come then gives Jason's asshole one last swipe with his tongue.

“Very good.” He says. “Now upstairs.”

Shit, Jason’s heart flutters in an unpleasant way. Bruce is playing this exactly as he had all the way to the end, not just the first part but all of the parts afterwards, the parts that would end in what had been a completely normal night for them back then. Jason had wanted Bruce to push him and skirting the edges of their still newly established comfort zone had gotten him hot but there were completely non-sexual parts to that night and their old relationship in general that he isn't ready for or sure if he will ever be ready for again. 

“B.” Jason manages to whisper pleadingly, catching his eyes. 

Bruce seems to understand that Jason is quietly freaking himself out about going up to the Manor, let along to his old bedroom. “Shhh love.” He says and gathers Jason to himself. “We'll go to the cave shower.” 

***

The shower is cut direct and deeply into the rock wall of the cave. It’s dark and warm and Bruce holds Jason, washes his hair with gentle hands and fucks him slowly, letting Jason be as impatient and wanton as he wants. 

When it’s time to leave Jason wanders over to his discarded clothes and gear on wobbly legs. He picks up his phone to check his messages and sees a notification from Jess. “Hey Hood, found out more on Richard Gere, goes by the name of Patrick Ferrer. Fuck you very much.”


	2. Night Two

It’s total bullshit. Instead of going immediately back to the hotel and demanding answers from Patrick, possibly by dangling him off a building (always a classic), Batman stopped Jason from doing any such thing and tipped off Gordon, who brought the sleaze ball back for more questioning early in the morning. 

They’re building a case. Working with the police. Playing by the rules. Jason can practically hear Batman in his head. He has half a mind to say ‘fuck that’ but he holds his tongue. The other half of his mind doesn't want the eternal debate churning beneath everything they do to boil over again. 

All they really have is a missing person's case and strange coincidence so it's no surprise Patrick’s second questioning by the GCPD had been fruitless. It also didn't help that the missing person had already fallen through the cracks of Gotham before she ever fell off the face of the earth. Patrick said as much himself in the interview tapes Jason saw afterwards. The douchebag had been sitting next to his attorney who was looking at him aghast as he went off script and said “Look, she was a hooker I picked up every now and then, you caught me, I'm no saint, but that bitch could be dead in the river or run off to Missouri who the fuck knows.”

Jason’s interrogated a lot of people, innocent and guilty, and his instincts still say Patrick is telling the truth. He doesn't know what happened to Crystal. They would monitor the man, as they already were, but now they need to look for new leads.

While the whole situation is frustrating, at least Jason can burn off steam by beating some skills into the new kid. He throws a quick combination of punches all of which Duke dodges or deflects. They've been sparring already for a good half hour. 

The new not-Robin has moves. Still, while whatever training he received before and what Batman has already taught him isn’t nothing Jason came back from the Temple of All sharpened to a finer point than even Batman had been able to get him to and he hasn't let himself dull since. 

Duke throws Jason’s combination back at him, picking everything up as quick as you please. Jason dodges and weaves around his opponent until he’s in a position that allows him to flip Duke to the ground. Jason dances back and waits for Duke to get up before he throws a half speed variation of the combo combined with a leg sweep. Duke dodges everything again and manages to get in position so that he can throw Jason to the ground. Jason turns Duke’s attack against him and the younger man hits the mat instead. Again, Jason dances back and waits. Duke springs up, fire in his eyes, and throws the variation Jason showed him at lightning speed. He viciously sweeps at Jason's legs and when Jason avoids the attack and is again in position to throw his opponent Duke preemptively uses Jason’s momentum against him and puts him in a hold Jason recognizes as one of Batman’s. Jason easily breaks the hold, places himself back in it then breaks it a few more ways. 

“Do that last one again?” Duke asks.

Jason breaks the hold two more times, once at normal speed and then at half speed. 

“How do I stop that?”

“There’s always a way.” Jason says, offering to flip positions with Duke. 

“Boys.” Bruce calls from the computer. “Come see this.” 

Jason and Duke separate and eagerly approach the computer. Bruce stands and motions for Duke to take a seat which he does. He immediately begins sifting through the latest lab reports coming into the GCPD’s system as Bruce and Jason watch.

“What do you see?” Bruce asks and Jason reflexively scans for connections and anomalies before he realizes the question is directed at Duke. 

“Four of the victims have been identified, they were already in the system.”

“What for?” Bruce asks.

“Vandalism, panhandling, loitering, public urination… homeless people stuff.”

“Bring up their pictures.” Jason says.

“Okay…” Jason watches the screen as Duke navigates the ancient criminal database the GCPD uses and brings up pictures of the four victims. “Here you go.” Duke says.

Something's familiar about the victims, it's scratching at the back of Jason’s mind. 

“Run them through our system.” Bruce says. 

Duke switches over to the much more sophisticated private database that Batman uses and starts the cross search.

“Wait!” Jason remembers, “I know them, I’ve seen them play. They're a string quartet, they play the Night Theater. Shit.” They had been good. 

“What’s the Night Theater?” Duke asks. “Is this another clue about four?”

“Possibly.” Bruce says.

“The Night Theater is…” Jason searches for a way to explain it. “It's like a talent show or a variety thing. Street performers and panhandlers get together at the abandoned Jefferson theater once a month and eco-warrior weirdoes dumpster dive for thrown out food, make a big buffet, and everyone tries out new acts and entertains each other.“

Jason has fond memories of the theater, it had been a bit of magic that marked the first of every month for him during his years on the street. 

“They moved it to the old Hecht warehouse in Burnside and charge fifty dollars a head every two weeks now.” Bruce says. 

“What?” Jason’s appalled. Nothing is sacred. “Fucking hipsters. Probably think it's slumming it for fifty fucking bucks.” Jason remembers what he used to do for fifty bucks, what it used to cost him. 

“Hood,” Duke says, “you're like the original hipster, you know that right?”

“Burnside is cancer.”

“There’s a show tonight,” says Bruce, “change into civilian clothes, I want to talk to the proprietor.”

***

Bruce and Jason arrive, dressed in nondescript disguises, right before the show begins. “Look at this,” Jay says, waving the two page program he swiped from his seat in Bruce's direction. “A schedule?” 

“Yes,” Bruce opens his own and scans it. “Your friends are still on it. I suppose the organizers of this event haven’t been alerted to their disappearance in the past two weeks.” 

Jason skims over the rest of the program. He’s happy to see some performers he remembers, a pair of twins with a magic act that might be something real, a girl with a voice so soulful she could make any audience member cry, and a man who peeled potatoes and sold the peelers he used with such finesse and showmanship that it was mesmerizing. Some of the acts he doesn't know but that's to be expected. A storyteller, a small troupe of players, and someone called the mathematician are also on tonight's program. “Seriously B, a fucking schedule.” 

“Shh.” Bruce hisses as the lights dim and the artfully threadbare curtain rises. 

Jason slumps deep into his seat and grumbles about people who have the money to dye their hair trendy colors. At least there’s no cheesy intro, the show, as it always had, just begins.

First up are The Twin Magicians. Jason watches them closely as they switch places and costumes and rolls in a dizzying flurry concocted to throw the audience off balance. That is until they do the whole routine slower and then again slower still. One twin plays the magician while the other plays the assistant, then they switch places, then they switch costumes, over and over in increasingly impossible ways. Then, right before your eyes as slow as can be, they switch themselves. One twin becomes the other in the middle of a trick designed to show you that it's not a trick. Jason knows the act, he'd seen it twice before his death and every time he was more impressed than the last. They’re good. Too good. Impossibly good. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in recognition of real magic and he can see that when he steals a glance at Bruce he sees it too. It’s not a trick.

***

Bruce weighs which he finds more fascinating: The Potato Peeler or Jason raptly watching a man peel potatoes.

The last act of the night is winding down and people in the audience are practically stampeding over each other to buy the peeler the man on stage has been masterfully demonstrating. His voice is almost hypnotic, his hands are a blur, he makes peeling look fun and the tool he is using impossibly desirable. Even Bruce himself is wondering if Alfred would like one as a present. The Twins from the opening act may have stumbled upon a real piece of magic but The Potato Peeler has cast a spell of salesmanship over the audience. 

Jason’s face though. There’s very little room in Bruce’s head for potato peelers, no matter how multi-purposed, when Jason is beside him looking so beautifully engaged. 

Bruce catches a snippet of conversation from the seats behind him “I just bought one on amazon.” He watches Jason’s face contort into disgust.

His former Robin whips around and confronts the young people behind them. “That’s not the fucking point!”

“Dude, chill.” 

Bruce turns and sees a girl, about college age with an unwieldy amount of purple curly hair and a nose ring, flip him off. 

“Kabe.” Bruce says, placing a calming had on Jason's shoulder. “Lets just go.” By which he means let's go interrogate the organizers.

“Yeah, you better go.” Says the girl. 

Thankfully Jason gets the message and they leave without further incident.

“These fucking kids man,” Jason says under his breath, “upper-middle-class fucks who've never wanted for anything. This show used to mean something, now it’s been packaged and watered down and fucking… commodified!” 

Years of acting practice allow Bruce to avoid showing how amused he is by Jason's indignation. 

When they reach the side of the stage Bruce steps forward and grabs the attention of the person in charge. A tall man wearing shutter shades in his early 40s. “Excuse me, we didn’t hear the string quartet that was supposed to play. They were the entire reason I came.”

“Yeah what gives?” Jason says, taking up the thread. “No announcement? No fucking addendum to the program?”

“Hey I’m sorry guys, some of the acts I book are a little… unreliable. We’re refining the line up every day.”

“Bullshit, you can't charge us full price when we didn't get a full show.”

“Kabe, it’s fine. Do you know when they might be back?” Bruce asks, pretending he doesn't know exactly where they are.

“No idea man, like I said, unreliable, last I heard they were interviewing pianists and then poof. And believe me, I don’t wanna ask the weirdos they were staying with what happened so...”

“Weirdos?” Bruce prompts. 

“Mole people, out in the fucking tunnels. Forget it man. They are long gone.”

“What.”

“Man you would not believe the freaks who play this place. It's wild, but the kids eat it up, they can smell the gritty authenticity!”

“Ah, well I’m sorry to hear that about the quartet. Thank you though.”

“Thanks for fucking monetizing an organic experience, corporatist vulture.” Jason says before turning to leave.

“Yo, what?” Says the owner before Bruce quickly follows Jason out. 

“Was that necessary?” Bruce asks once they reach the crisp outside. 

“I think he’s the one. Gentrifying neighborhoods with murder so that he can swoop in and sell real estate for 300% more than it was worth a year ago.”

“That seems like a stretch.” 

“Ok world's greatest detective what do you think?” 

“I think we need to go underground but the ambassador I know will need time to set up an escort. Have you ever been there?” 

“No, I was bad off but I've never been that desperate.”

***

Duke is watching the security feed they set up around the potential fourth scene on the cave computer. There's nothing there yet but two GCPD cops sitting in a nondescript sedan. Gordon's ordered a wider sweep of the area though, just in case the body has been disturbed or there are other clues to be found. 

A notification for a new hit in the database comes up. Duke switches screens and opens the old program. It’s one of the victims from the very first crime scene, Yuri Pascal, drunk and disorderly, domestic dispute, and most interestingly: connections to underground cage fighting. 

Duke runs Yuri through Bruce’s own database and sees that the ring Yuri fought at is owned and operated by none other than Oswald Cobblepot.

He pulls up the trackers for Bruce and Jason, sees that they’re slowly making their way back from Burnside in one of Bruce's least flashy cars and dials it up.

“Hey, got a new hit on a victim.” He says.

“Shoot.” Says Jason's voice. 

“From the first scene, the one from the chinese restaurant, a guy named Yuri Pascal, he was a fighter at Cobblepot’s underground ring.”

“The Polar Bear Knuckle.” Bruce adds.

“Seriously?” Jason groans. 

“The man is dedicated to his brand.” Duke says. “Do you guys want to check it out?” 

“Yes,” says Bruce, “but we can’t just go in as civilians. The Polar Bear is not somewhere a normal citizen would be on an off night.” 

“Don’t you have another identity that might work.” Jason asks, Duke can hear amusement in his voice. 

“Another identity?” Duke asks.

“Oh man, new kid hasn't met Matches yet.” Jason cackles. “Do the voice!”

“No.” Bruce says in his deadpan which can either mean he is sucking the fun out of the world because the mission is dark and serious or he is amused and nobody is allowed to know because the mission is dark and serious. 

“B, it’s perfect. You go in as Matches, say you heard through the grapevine that Penguin needs a new fighter and you've got just the guy to replace him. Perfect excuse to ask about whatever happened to his old one. Take it from there.”

“Maybe. Duke, how much did Mr. Pascal weigh?”

Duke scans through the autopsy report. “173.”

“You’d need to lose some weight between here and Downtown, Jay.” 

“How much do you weigh Duke?” Jason asks.

“No.”

“170 ish.” 

“See! Back on track. Cobblepot won't even be there. My plan is flawless.” 

The line goes silent for a moment and Duke can tell someone hit mute. Whatever transpired Jason must have won because when the line comes back on Bruce says “Meet us at WE three hours from now dressed in sweats. Study up on the Cobblepot files in the meantime.” And then hangs up. 

Duke is so excited he could kiss Jason. It’s low stakes and undercover but he'll be out in the field!

***

Bruce drives them into the normal Wayne Enterprise’s employee parking garage, makes a million left turns then triggers a hidden wall that retreats to reveal the entrance of the cavernous sub-basement dedicated to his downtown armoire. It's almost as well stocked as the main cave. 

Jason watches like a hawk as Bruce quickly changes into Matches. Ill fitting brown suit, dark hair slicked back, ridiculous patterned tie, his father’s moustache, and a fucking match hanging from his lips. Just like that B is oozing sleaze and there's a broken part of Jason that couldn't love it more. 

“Hey mister, if you're looking for a good time tonight I’d give you half off.”

“Would you now?” Says Bruce in his Matches’ voice, low and smooth and slow. Exactly like the small time crooks he grew up around. The sound of it strikes a chord in Jason. “As pretty as you are I’ve got places to be, baby.”

“I think we've got time for me to blow you. What do you say? I've never had any complaints.”

Bruce as Matches chuckles, “Sweet mouth like yours I’m sure you haven't.” Bruce hesitates but then he walks over to the car with a gait that's not his own, leans against the trunk and undoes his pants. The sound of his zipper is obscene in the large and empty space. “How much is this gonna set me back?” 

“Fifty. Friends and family discount.”

Bruce removes himself from his pants and gives Jason a slow once over that makes him feel like something for sale then motions him over. “You like being on your knees don't you sweetheart?” 

Jay sinks to his knees and lets Bruce feed him his dick in lieu of answering. 

He loves how big Bruce is, how rough he’s being. Jay tries to concentrate on what he’s doing, taking Bruce in as deeply as he can, paying attention to his reactions when Jay does something he likes. Jason is obviously familiar with what Bruce usually goes for but the man is pretty method when he’s undercover so everything is a little off kilter.

“You’re a little slut aren’t you baby?”

Jason moans around Bruce’s dick. That earns him hands in hair, finger carding gently at first then Bruce makes a fist and starts using Jay without warning. 

“For fifty bucks you’d better make it worth the while for daddy.” 

Oh fuck, Jason is so turned on, creeped out, turned on by how creeped out he is that he loses his rhythm and gags.

“Thought you were a professional, did you lie to me little slut? Just wanted an excuse to get on my dick? That’s ok sweetheart. You just sit back and I’ll fuck your face.”

Bruce does and he’s fucking loving it. His mouth is starting to feel raw and his jaw is aching. Jason's going to need therapy after this. 

Bruce is getting close, his breath has gone ragged and Jason is willing to bet he’s dropped the fucking match. Finally Bruce gives his hair two very deliberate yanks. Jason pulls off and closes his eyes. Feels the hot liquid of Bruce’s come hit him in waves. He should have swallowed, they have shit to do, but fuck if the thought of Bruce’s reaction doesn’t almost have Jason coming in his own pants.

“Jay.” Bruce says, ragged voice full of wonder. 

Jason grins and gets to his feet. “I think I’ll stay behind and run point.” He says before ducking behind a concrete pillar just as Duke arrives. B barely has time to pull himself together.

***

Duke didn't know what to expect when Jason had mentioned “Matches” but a two bit mobster hadn't been it. With just some hair gel, facial hair, a bad suit, and a match Bruce was completely transformed. He shouldn't have been surprised. He had seen Bruce slip in and out of Brucie mode like it was as easy as turning a light switch on and off, and he did that with no props at all, but he’d always assumed that was just some variation of Bruce or an impression of some other socialite. He’d made it look so easy Duke hadn't realized how impressive it was. 

“Pull down the mirror.” Bruce says, breaking Duke from his reflection. Once he has Bruce speaks again. “Now, look at yourself. Acting is not pretending to be someone else, or pretending to respond to something as you think someone else would. This isn't telling a lie. You are a fighter, you've lived your life exactly as you already have but you did it all in Chicago. Your name is Kelvin, three years ago you walked past an MMA gym and were fascinated by it. You joined and received the exact relevant training you've been getting from me in the cave, but it wasn't the cave, it was the gym. You've gone every day after school since then. You are excited to prove yourself. You are eager to have this opportunity. You are apprehensive about the illegality but you are confident in your skills and interested in the money. You don't need to think on your feet, you don't need to come up with anything elaborate. You are here to look eager and like a fighter, which you are. You are here to observe and you are here to drop this somewhere useful.” Bruce reaches into his coat pocket and gives Duke a small audio bug. “Now, think back about how excited you were to start training in the cave and channel that feeling into being excited about fighting at the Polar Bear. Concentrate on experiencing that emotion genuinely and let it guide your actions and thoughts. Humans are driven by basic things: fear, love, need, want. Now listen kid, I'm sticking my neck out for you here. I saw what you could do and I was impressed. There's an opportunity here but you better not fucking embarrass me. How you feelin’ there fighter?” Duke heard the change come over Bruce slowly as he slipped into the dropped g’s and low tones of Gotham’s criminal class.

“I want this. I’m ready, you can count on me.” Thankfully Duke’s actual feelings are pretty aligned with how he should be feeling.

“Good, but don't get stupid and over-eager, prodigy. Let the adults do the talking. Me. Cobblepot and his associates are important men, it would be smart to show some respect and deference.” 

“Got it boss.” 

Ten minutes later and Bruce drives them down to the lower part of one of Gotham’s multilevel streets. Heading towards the first crime scene, the Chinese restaurant. Duke mentally kicks himself for not putting two and two together before this. 

***

Jason takes a seat at the auxiliary cave computer and spends some time arranging the settings for the multiple feeds from Patrick’s house and apartment, the potential fourth scene, and those tracking Bruce and Duke until they are all to his liking. He then checks to make sure that all the audio from his end is muted before leaning back and dipping his hand down his pants. 

***

Duke is fretting beside him. No doubt making the connection he had previously missed. Bruce let's the Matches persona slip away. “Learn from this.” He means for his words to be both comforting and didactic. 

“I’m sorry.” Duke says quietly.

“Some day you may be tempted not to investigate and cross reference every verifiable fact you learn but remember: our work has very high stakes and a low tolerance for error. You will make other mistakes with graver consequences than this.” Bruce thinks he has come a long way to be able to admit that about someone and still trust them. “This time the only consequence is your naivete. Had this lead not come up tonight we would have investigated the connection in due time. Going forward remember this and always cross check every aspect of the files, places as well as people.” 

“Why wasn't this in the GCPD case notes? Not one mentioned that the first crime scene was a front for one of Cobblepot's operations?” 

Bruce scrutinizes Duke’s tone, wondering if the boy is transferring blame from himself to the GCPD, he’s not. “That is precisely why it wasn't mentioned. You are not unaware of the systemic corruption in the police department…”

“No, I know. I- wow, always fun to find a blind spot.” 

“Hm,” Bruce hums in agreement. “They pass the information along by word of mouth, they may have even made light inquires to the staff of the Polar Bear, but they won’t record anything and the would never press charges for just being the scene of a murder. Cobblepot is smart, well funded, and comparatively discrete. In part the GCPD do not trouble themselves with him for the same reasons we rarely make him our focus.”

Bruce drives them into the underground alley beside the restaurant and parks the car. He takes a moment to put himself back into the proper head space then walks to the back door that will lead them into an opulent arctic themed arena. 

He knocks on the door, no special sequence or code words. A tall burly woman with long red braids opens it and grins at Bruce in recognition of Matches. 

“Well well well! Look what the cat dragged in. Where the hell have you been scoundrel?”

“Down at a beautiful little farm in Columbia. Shining sun and big tittied women, why the fuck did I ever come back here? How you been Olive?” 

“I’m good, I’m good. Come in, we’ve got big titties in here too if you miss ‘em, no fucking sun though, why the big boss don’t choose a warmer theme I’ll never know but it keeps the heating bills down.”

“Big boss in tonight?” 

“Nah just me and Terrance, he's in the back room. You doing work for us again? Man, shit never ran so efficiently as the last job you did.”

“Not this time, no work, just a lead.” Bruce jerks his head back in Duke’s direction. 

“Mm hm, and who told you we need a lead?”

“I’ve got little birds all over the place, gotta keep an ear out, you know, otherwise you’ll never know when a good opportunity comes around.”

Olive laughs and leads them to the back of the empty arena, the house lights are on and the place looks small and cheap but Bruce has seen it many times in full swing, when the dark and the spotlights and the raucous crowd give the space life and electricity. They go behind one of the bars, crossing a barrier that would, on another night, feel forbidden and through another door that leads them to a small well furnished office. “Hey Terrence, look who I’ve got for you!” Olive grins and throws an arm around Bruce.

“Well fuck me!” Terrance says, “Matches fucking Malone. The fuck you been?” 

“He’s been down in Columbia.” Olive says, using an exaggerated accent. 

“Tried my hand at the simple agrarian lifestyle.” Bruce explains.

“I’ll just fucking bet.” Says Terrance. “And what brings you back, selling the harvest? We already got suppliers.” 

“No no, that’s all wrapped up. What I got here is a present for you, my friend. I heard through the grapevine you lost a fighter, just so happens I found one.”

“What are you, an agent now?” Terrance laughs.

“Who me? No, I’m just a… facilitator of synchronicity.”

Terrance thinks this is hilarious. Bruce likes the man, he’s an easy person to be friends with. They met, well, Matches met him, ten years ago when Terrance had been a bartender at the iceberg and Bruce had been cultivating a reputation as a freelancer who organized odd jobs that needed an unscrupulous middle man.

“I got a whole roster of fighters waiting to join, what the fuck have you brought?” 

“Something you've never seen before.”

***

Jay thinks back to how wrecked Bruce (Matches) looked when he came on Jason’s face and touches himself. Slowly at first, until he’s completely hard and biting his lip with his head thrown back. He keeps an eye on the camera feed from Bruce’s car. Watches Bruce as Matches drive to Penguin’s underground ring. He looks so fucking hot like that. 

Jason wonders briefly if he could put his foot up on the console but scratches the idea, he would probably kick the wrong thing and broadcast his audio on all frequencies or some other disaster. 

After Bruce exits the car Jason reaches for the keyboard with his left hand and switches the feed to external then quickly brings up the footage from earlier that night in another window and watches Matches’ face as he’s being sucked off. 

Jason picks up the pace. He's almost there. Motion from the car’s external feed drags him back from the edge though. Another vehicle is pulling up. Long and black and fashionably old fashioned. The driver exits and opens the passenger door and the second Jason sees the first tiny spats clad foot step out he’s scrambling to get audio back on.

***

Duke tunes out Bruce and Terrence's prattle and searches for a place to plant his bug. He considers slipping it into the man’s own pocket when they shake hands, Bruce had taught him some amazing pickpocketing techniques last week, but that would probably be too bold, and useful for only one night unless the man wore the same pants every day. 

“Guys,” Jason’s voice says in Duke’s ear “Penguin just pulled up, he’s about 20 seconds away from you.” Duke glances at Bruce to gauge his reaction and receives nothing. 

“Anybody win big last week?” Bruce asks just as the door opens.

“Who's asking?” Says a nasally voice Duke has only heard in recordings until now. 

“Mr. Cobblepot, nice to see you again.” Bruce says respectfully. 

“Malone. Who are you working for this time? Black Mask? Two-Face?”

“Just stopped by to make an introduction, sir.”

“Hmmm.” Penguin grumbles and Terrance scrambles to get him a chair. “If you must know it was some punk kid who breezed in, suspicious as hell, and made off like a bandit. If you can track her down I would be most interested in having a chat.” Duke catches a glimpse of his serrated smile and shivers. 

“I’ll keep an ear out.” Bruce says. 

“Keep the other out for a rich socialite with a proclivity for… prostitutes with large hands, by the name of Patrick Ferrer. He owes me quite a bit from the last fight.”

***

Jason is seconds away from pinning things to a cork board and connecting them with string.

**Author's Note:**

> Tags and warnings will be added as things happen.


End file.
